Love, Save the Empty
by fractured-fairytale06
Summary: When it came right down to it, there was no way he was letting her go that easy. CASKETT friendship, angst.
1. Turn Me Away

**Author's Note:**

**The finale just wouldn't leave me alone, especially with the implications of our beloved Castle messing with Kate's mother's case, so I felt the need to write out the consequences. These are short chapters, but they should be updated fairly quickly if you all want me to keep going.**

**The title is from a song by Erin McCarley.**

**Chapter One**

"**Turn Me Away"**

"It's about your mother."

It's the look of remorse on his face that gives him away, Kate thinks as she lowers herself onto the hard chair. The man who she once thought possessed the world's best poker face was now shifting nervously from foot to foot like he'd just been called into the principal's office. This time, unfortunately, the charges against him were far more serious than crude—if clever—graffiti on the boys' room wall. The fate of their relationship, their tentative and yet untested friendship, rested solely on the next few carefully crafted words that left his mouth.

"You can't leave anything alone, can you?" she asked, venom dripping from each word.

"I know, and I'm sorry—"

"This isn't some case you can treat like a jigsaw puzzle for one of your books," she seethed, "It's my life."

"I know you hate me right now, and you have every right to," he stated without hesitation, "But please let me say this. If you never want to see me again when I'm done, I totally understand." His clear blue eyes pleaded with hers, and she wasn't sure she could refuse him. "Just… let me get this out."

She stared up at him, fighting against the tears stinging the backs of her eyes and the righteous fury bubbling up, even still, as every movement of his tall frame convinced her of his urgency. He started once or twice and then stopped, shaking his head when the words he happened across weren't right. Kate looked on, helpless, while he made his best attempt to utilize a writer's vocabulary to describe something he wasn't sure either of them knew how to deal with.

"There were three others," he said finally, choosing bluntness over eloquence, "Three other women, around the same time, who looked just like your mother." His eyes, penitent, met hers. "The murders stopped after your mother's death."

It had never been Kate's mind that slowed her down, and now it sifted through information at a speed faster than she could handle it. There, just below the surface, she knew every word in her mother's case file. She could mimic every signature and pass it as genuine, down to the pressure they'd put on the pen that sealed her mother's autopsy report. Castle was still talking—something about stab wounds; nothing she wanted to hear—but her fingertips were holding the pendant around her neck and praying for it all to stop. He was pulling her back into an obsession that almost killed her the first time, and she couldn't survive a relapse.

"Stop," she said finally, her uncharacteristically frail voice cutting through the din of the raucous hospital wing, "Just… stop."

His mouth instantly closed in respect for her wishes, and he watched as she took a deep breath and stood up. He waited for her to curse him or yell at him for meddling in such a painful part of her history, but the words never came. She seemed elsewhere; a million miles away from the sterile hallway of a hospital. For a moment he wondered if she planned to shoot him, and decided he would enjoy it if it meant she would acknowledge him. Finally she looked directly at him, through him, and cleared her throat.

"Goodbye, Castle," she said, her voice trembling under the weight of her words. Her cool indifference tore right through him, and he had no doubt she meant the words. She walked away without another glance or the briefest of touches in passing, and he hadn't honestly expected her to.

Just like that, Kate Beckett was out of his life.


	2. This New Heartache

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks for all the interest in this story… it made me write a little faster, so here's the next chapter. =)**

**Chapter Two**

"**This New Heartache"**

Back in her apartment, Kate found exactly what she expected to find: solitude. Sunlight filtered easily through the windows, highlighting the fine film of dust that covered her dining room table. Books littered the top of it, emblazoned with the name she now wished she'd never heard. Once, she'd admired it. It didn't seem fair that the man had once gotten her through her mother's death, helped her heal, only to drag her right back into it now and reopen the wounds she'd so carefully sutured. Fate, it seemed, was crueler than even she gave it credit for.

She ran her fingers over the glossy covers, tracing the lettering she knew so well. She could throw them all out, she knew. It would have been all too easy in that moment to grab a trash bag from under her sink and throw them all into it. She could light a match and turn the pages to ashes, or send them through a wood chipper and turn them into mulch. Destruction was something she knew all too well, but it was only a temporary cure. The pressure on her chest and the tears pricking the backs of her eyes had been caused not by his words, but by his actions. All the spiteful reactions in the world wouldn't have cured her of these feelings. They felt a lot like betrayal.

How could he have betrayed her? The thought was ridiculous. Betrayal was a lover's word. They weren't friends, and they sure as hell weren't lovers. She could just barely tolerate him, for God's sake. Richard Castle was a pest. He was a fly buzzing around her head, getting himself in more trouble than she could even begin to fathom. He made impromptu phone calls to show off his influence and bought expensive gifts to showcase his success. Espresso machines and gorgeous dresses.

Kate scoffed.

Who the hell did he think he was? Just because he was a celebrity he could treat her life like a pet project? He could go to hell, Kate thought as she curled up on one end of her couch. Straight there, with no pit-stops. He had no right. Even Will knew better than to interfere with her mother's case.

She'd almost asked Will once, late one night when she felt that he was the only one in the world who could understand and give her the help she needed. He would look over at her, give her a soft and mildly arrogant smile, and she'd wonder why she didn't just come out with it. The feeling quickly passed, though, and she was grateful she hadn't gone through with such a ridiculous ambition. It was almost certain that she would have regretted it after a while, so it was much better left undone.

So why did she tell Castle?

The question bothered her now more than ever, when her momentary weakness seemed to have exploded in her face. Kate Beckett was the authority at keeping people at arm's length, and yet she'd told a virtual stranger about one of the most intimate details of her life. Short of confessing to cheating on one math test in the second grade, she'd told him everything she'd ever felt necessary to hide. And what did he do with it? He threw it back in her face with a new spin—just something else to keep her awake at night, when she was unsettled enough without his help. The information meant nothing to him, and it never would.

She laughed out loud, finally realizing her error. Deep down, she wanted it to mean something to him. It was a lovesick mistake, born out of an infatuation that only grew wings and learned to fly once she had a face and boyish smile to put with the name that had acted as her lifesaver all these years. The fascination was there the night she brought him in for questioning, and had only deepened when she realized that he was far more knowledgeable than she'd been willing to give him credit for. She should have known that the dark look in his eyes when they met hers was bad news, an omen of the heartache to come, but that would have been too simple, and her life never was.

Now it didn't matter, did it? She let the tears slide down her face then, not bothering to wipe them away. It was all over and done with, almost before it started. He'd done the one thing she'd begged him never to do, and she wasn't about to forgive him. Every feeling she'd ever had for him—every touch of longing—was now locked away, never to be examined again.

Just like that, Richard Castle was out of her life.


	3. A Story to Tell

**Author's Note:**

**I really am writing these chapters ridiculously fast, aren't I? Oh well. I still hope you enjoy them.**

**Chapter Three**

"**A Story to Tell"**

Richard Castle let himself into his apartment, expecting to see his mother halfway to Margaritaville or poised and ready to cluck her I-told-you-so's until he cracked and admitted that she'd been right. Instead he found Alexis lying on the couch with a book, completely unaware that he'd even come in the front door. He watched her delicate brow furrow with concentration as she turned a page and kept right on reading, oblivious to her audience. It always amazed him how much she looked like Meredith, only to be more intelligent and more responsible than both of them put together. He liked to think she got that from him, but he knew better.

"Hey," he finally said, smiling when she started and looked up at him. She smiled in greeting, obviously happy to see him. For a moment, it wasn't like he'd just screwed over one of the best relationships he'd ever had. "What are you reading?"

"Jane Eyre," she replied. "It's for my English class."

"Ugh," he grunted and feigned disgust, "A book that will live forever in infamy. I was ready to burn it by the time I finished my sophomore English class."

"Don't knock it," Alexis warned, "Without these novelists you wouldn't have a job."

"Ouch. Touché," he said and laid his jacket across the back of a chair before joining Alexis on the couch. He cradled her legs in his lap and looked over to find her studying him more intently than her book. "What?"

"What happened?" she asked, her voice worried.

"Who said anything happened?"

"You look old," she observed simply, unwittingly sending a dagger through his heart.

"Come on," he proclaimed, hand on his chest, "Easy."

"You never do," she amended, "Unless you're worried about something. What is it? A new case?" Her eyes got big. "Did something happen to Kate?"

He grinned. "When did you start calling her Kate?"

"She's cool," she replied, shrugging. "She didn't get hurt, did she?"

"No, nothing like that," he said, though she wasn't far from the mark. "If anything, I happened to Kate."

"You didn't cop a feel, did you?" she asked with a smirk and he couldn't help his own laughter. It was fairly obvious that she'd inherited his sense of humor.

"Okay, first of all, excellent pun," he continued, "Secondly, no, I didn't."

"Then what is it?" she questioned, undeterred by his unwillingness to come out with the information she wanted.

"I kind of broke a promise to her," he said, though the words he chose made it seem a lot more innocent than it actually was. "I told her I wasn't going to do something, and I did it anyway."

"That's fairly normal for you," she observed. "What was the promise?"

He looked at his daughter, and wondered if it would be breaking his word to Kate all over again if he told Alexis what he'd done. He felt the need to tell someone, to gauge a reaction. His decisions felt right, but the consequences weren't worth it. The rift he'd caused was irreparable and he knew that, and that simple fact was what convinced him that telling one more soul wasn't a big deal.

"Kate's mom was murdered," he said bluntly, and Alexis's expression perfectly related the horror of the event, "A few years ago now, and they never caught the killer."

"She didn't try to catch the killer herself, did she?" she asked.

"She tried," he admitted, "But she couldn't. It had been too long, and she ran out of leads before she could find anything useful."

"Oh, Dad," she said apprehensively, "Tell me you didn't."

"What?" he asked, "What didn't I do?"

"You didn't butt in, did you?" she asked and could immediately tell the answer by the semi-shocked look on her father's face. "Dad! That was probably the most traumatic event in her life, and she doesn't need you bringing it all back up again. I'm sure it was hard enough to let go the first time. If she'd wanted your help, she would have asked you for it."

"My God," he said, "Not you, too."

"What?"

"Your grandmother told me the same thing," he admitted with some dismay.

"Yeah, well, you should have listened to her," she said and paused. "Wow. I don't think I've ever said that before."

"Don't make a habit of it," he pleaded. "But it's not that simple. When I was digging around—basically, doing everything I shouldn't have done—I found out that there had been three other murders just like her mother's, and that they'd stopped right after her mother's death."

Alexis paled.

"You think she was the target?" she asked and he nodded. "Didn't the cops see that before? When it first happened?"

"No, they thought it was random gang violence," he said. "That kind of crime is harder to solve, because it means they have no connections to the victims. But if she was the target, it means someone was after her specifically, for one reason or another."

"If the killer was connected to her, you have a better chance of finding whoever did it," she stated absently. She pursed her lips in thought for a little while, before turning to him with a determination in her eyes that he's certain she got from him. "You have to tell her."

"That's the problem. I did," he said. "She just walked off. She couldn't even say more than two words to me."

"Did you tell her about the new evidence?"

"Yeah, I did," he replied, "But she had this really far-off look in her eyes, and I don't think she caught most of it."

"You have to go find her," she told him vehemently, "You have to get her to listen, because she might have a chance to catch whoever killed her mother. She'll get mad, yeah, but she'd regret it if she just left it alone."

"She doesn't want to see me, Alexis," he told her sadly. "I've hurt her enough for one day. I think it'll be easier to just… leave it alone."

"Leave it alone?" she asked incredulously. "Richard Castle, pain in the neck extraordinaire, is just going to leave something alone?"

"Why do you hurt me?"

"Because it's the best way to get your attention," she said pointedly, "You can't just let her ignore this." She took his face in her hands and ensured he was looking directly at her. "You can't lose her."

"Lose her?"

"It comes down to this, Dad," she started, sounding like someone much older than the fifteen-year-old he surprised on the couch a few minutes before, "What does she mean to you?"

"Alexis, I told you," he started, "It's just a working relationship."

"Maybe," she admitted, "Maybe not. All I know is that I haven't seen you as happy as many days in a row as I have since she arrested you a few months ago. So what would you really be losing? A partner, a muse, or a friend?"

"All of the above," he answered, for once without thinking.

"Well?" she asked, "What's the going rate for saving a friendship?"

"Whatever you want," he said, removing her legs from his lap and standing up from the couch, "Just put it on my tab and I'll owe you."

"Deal," she said and watched him grab his jacket and run out of the room. Before she could hear the door open, she heard footsteps rapidly coming back to the couch. She felt her father place a kiss on the top of her head and she grinned.

"She may be my muse," he said, "But you're my masterpiece." With that Alexis smiled and listened to him take off, waiting a few minutes before going back to her book.

He was so far gone, he didn't even know it.

**A/N: I really do enjoy writing Alexis. She and Castle are just too much fun. =)**


	4. The Angel on My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

**Hello all! Thanks for all your kind words and reviews. They make my day. =) In any case, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter Four**

"**The Angel on My Shoulder"**

"Girl, you look a _mess_."

They were Lanie Parish's first words when Kate opened her front door, and she would probably say them a few more times by the end of the night. Kate had an old blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her dark hair was mussed beyond recognition, and the tell-tale rims of watery red around her eyes were undeniable proof that she'd been crying.

"Good to see you, too," she said sarcastically before opening her door wider. "Come on in."

Lanie took one good look around her friend's home and noticed the box of Kleenex on the coffee table and the as-yet unopened bottle of Merlot right next to it. All these things were normal, as they'd gotten each other through plenty of other crying jags before this one. The only thing that was out of place was her dining room table, where she usually kept all the pretty writer-boy's books. Now, rather than a jumbled mess, Lanie found it bare and polished to a shine.

"Oh, honey," she said with a sad sigh, "Did he hurt you?"

Kate scoffed, "Like he could."

"Looks to me like he did," she observed as Kate folded herself back onto the couch. She reached for the wine and peeled the foil away from the cork.

"Are we going to open this or not?" she asked, obviously agitated beyond what was considered normal for her.

"We'll get to that in a minute," Lanie said, taking the dark bottle and replacing it on the coffee table. "First you have to tell me what happened."

"Not much to say," Kate replied, folding her arms over her chest. "I did something I shouldn't have in the first place and he betrayed my trust. Simple. Over and done with."

"Oh, my God," her friend replied, mouth agape, "You slept with him!"

"What? No!" Kate quickly exclaimed, "Why do you always jump to that conclusion?"

"Because that's the first mistake I'd be making with Richard Castle," she said bluntly and they both laughed. It started out as a chuckle, and then upon realizing that Lanie was perfectly serious they burst into a fit of hysterics, stopping only when tears had sprung from their eyes and the muscles in their abdomen were in knots. Finally Lanie put her hand on her friend's knee, the mirth in her eyes replaced with quiet compassion.

"What's wrong, Katie? Come on. Get rid of it," she soothed and Kate smiled at the use of her nickname. She didn't know why she'd ever thought she could keep something like this from Lanie.

"I told him about my mom," she said and gave a bitter laugh. "I have no idea how I could be so stupid, but I was. And he did the one thing I asked him not to do—he just kept pushing it. Like he could find something I couldn't."

"Well?" Lanie asked, "Did he?"

"Of course not," she replied, surprised at this unexpected turn of the conversation. "He just pieced together some half-assed MO and considered it a breakthrough."

"What was the MO?"

"Are you kidding?" Kate cried, "That's not the point! The point is that I asked him to leave it alone, and he didn't."

"So what did you do then?" Lanie asked with a knowing sigh. "Let me guess? You walked out. You just left him standing there."

"Uh…" Kate stammered, "No."

"Yeah, nice try," she said sarcastically. "So this man risks everything to tell you the truth about something he may have figured out about your mother's murder, and you just brush him off like he was nothing to you."

"He isn't anything to me," she replied bitterly.

"You and I both know that's absolute bull," she said pointedly, surprising Kate with her complete lack of subtlety. "You're happier these days, since that man came into the picture. You smile more, even at work. You go out and do things, for God's sake. You're living for maybe the first time in years, Katie."

"Will's come back," she said in her own defense, "I was thinking that things may work out between us after all. That could be what's behind all these changes that only you seem to notice."

"Girl, please," she scoffed, "He didn't do that to you the first time around."

"Well, it's not Castle," she swore, determined. "It is most definitely not Castle."

"You mean something to him too, you know," Lanie pointed out and watched as Kate's eyes jerked up to meet hers. "Oh, yeah, I bet you hadn't thought of that. Not only is he basing his books off of you—which are damn good ones, by the way—he invites you over to meet his family. I'll tell you this right now—for a father, that's a big deal." She grabbed Kate's hand. "And from what you tell me, you like them. They like you."

"Yeah," she said absently, "I do."

"It's not only you that's been giving up all your dirt," Lanie said frankly. "If I remember correctly, he's told you every fear he has about being a father, and what it was like for him. He told you about his divorces, which isn't easy for anyone."

"Well, Castle's not exactly a private person," she evaded. "He tells anyone."

"Does he?" she asks and they both know it's not true. "No. I didn't think so. Which means that if he hadn't figured something out, something that could make a serious difference, he wouldn't have told you."

"What?"

"He knew going into it how you felt," she pointed out in her best matter-of-fact tone. "And whatever he found, he told you anyway. That means that whatever he found he thought was more important to you than your friendship, or whatever it is that you two have."

"We don't have anything," she replied sullenly, but there was far less conviction in the words now.

"Be that as it may," she continued, "If he was just messing around for the fun of it he never would have told you, and you know it. Since you didn't know in the first place, you might never have found out and he would have been in the clear."

Kate sat up a little straighter, suddenly terrified that her friend had a point.

"Mm-hmm," Lanie said, spying Kate's abrupt change of heart. "That's what I thought."

"Oh, my God," she said, her eyes wide. "Lanie, I didn't even listen to what he said!"

"What?" she asked and Kate nodded.

"He just kept going on and on but all I heard is that he'd toyed with my mother's case," she said, a distinct edge to her normally bold voice. "I can't remember what he was saying! Something about stab wounds and three other women."

"Three other women?" Lanie asked, "And you didn't pay attention to that?!"

"Yeah, well, I am now," Kate replied with a dejected sigh. "Damn it!"

"You said it."

"Do you think he'd take my calls?" she asked hopefully.

"After that cold shoulder?" she responded, "There's only one way to find out."

Kate reached for the phone a few feet away, preparing to eat crow, before a knock at the door stopped her. Lanie jumped up, joyfully reaching for her purse.

"Ooh, you ordered already," she said excitedly. "I'll pay this time, just 'cause you're so miserable and I'm a good friend."

"I didn't order food," Kate told her, slipping the blanket from around her shoulders. Her first instinct would have been to reach for her gun, but she didn't want to scare Lanie. Aside from that, she had a feeling that the person on the side of the door was more of a threat to her sanity than to her well-being.

"Who is it, then?"

"I have a pretty good idea," she said. "Go ahead and open it."

**A/N: Sigh... I can't wait to get them back together. The world just isn't the same with them apart. =/**


	5. HelloGoodbye

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks all for the reviews and the continued interest in this story. There are two more chapters after this one—already written—so if you're all still interested, I'll be sure to get them up pronto. =)**

**Chapter Five**

"**Hello/Goodbye"**

After all was said and done, it took him close to two hours to work up the nerve to do what he needed to do. He took the longest route possible across the city, only to circle her block a few times. The next twenty minutes were spent working out every possible way the next few minutes could play out. In the end, the only outcome he was unprepared for was if she pulled out her gun and actually started shooting. In that event, he'd just run and try again later.

He approached her door with no small amount of reluctance, wondering if he'd be forced to resort to the letter he wrote her to shove under her door in case he couldn't work up the nerve. A gunshot wound being the worst possible scenario, anything less than that he should be able to handle.

Theoretically, anyway.

Praying he wouldn't hear the _click _of a safety being turned, he picked up his fist and rapped in knuckles against the door. The voice he heard on the other side wasn't Kate's, but it was almost as familiar.

"Lanie," he said when the smaller woman opened the door. "How are you?"

"Just fine," she answered, turning her cheek to him when he offered a kiss. "Your ears must have been burning. We've been talking about you."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I thought you might be. Is Kate around?"

Lanie offered a pointed look.

"Okay," he amended, "Is she willing to see me?"

"Yeah, I think she is," she turned to call over her shoulder, "At least she better be." She opened the door wider with a smile. "Come in."

"Thanks," he said, stepping inside. His eyes scanned his surroundings—Detective Beckett's home—and instantly figured out that running from the business end of Beckett's revolver wasn't the worst scenario after all.

Crumpled tissues were piled in a heap next to an unopened bottle of wine, and one look was all it took for Castle to realize that she'd been crying. _Jesus, _he thought as he focused on her pale skin and reddened eyes. _I made her cry. _Suddenly, gunshot wounds didn't seem so bad.

"Kate," he started uneasily, "I'm really sorry."

"No," she replied, her eyes hard and unblinking. "I don't think you are."

"Beckett!" Lanie exclaimed from just behind Castle, startling them both. "That is no way to accept a man's apology."

She replied with a loud exhale and narrowed her eyes at the man standing just a few feet away.

"Apology temporarily accepted," she corrected.

"That's a start, at least," Lanie interjected with a sigh. "Now I'm going to go make something to eat, and I want a truce between you two by the time I'm done."

"Yes, ma'am," Castle answered with his best smile. "One truce, coming up."

She eyed him for a moment longer before sending Kate a similar look and retreating to the kitchen. They waited a few seconds, choosing to lack to each other only after they heard the familiar rattle of pots and pans. For the time being, Lanie was otherwise engaged.

"Well," Kate said softly, "Let's hear it."

Before Castle even opened his mouth, he had the very correct impression that this was his one and only chance. He stood, albeit awkwardly, a few feet away from where Kate sat on the couch. He kept thinking of his discussion with Alexis—muse, partner, or a friend?—and the going rate for saving a friendship. The words came easier after that, since it was fairly obvious that he had little else to lose.

"I took the file from the evidence lockup," he said, exposing his own guilt and covering Esposito's with the same breath, "And I did it without asking. I thought I could help somehow—maybe be a fresh pair of eyes."

Kate said nothing, successfully unnerving him.

"I didn't even think to ask for your permission until my mother of all people pointed it out," he said, "That's why I asked you yesterday in the precinct."

"But you'd already done it," she said, "So whatever I had to say didn't matter."

"Of course it did," he said earnestly, "But I'd already asked a coroner friend of mine to look over the case by that time. I was fully intending to leave it alone like you said when my friend brought the file back and he found some inconsistencies between the autopsy report and the conclusions drawn by the detectives in charge of your mother's case."

"Such as?" she asked and Castle took the question for what it was: a temporary reprieve.

"Are you sure?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive at the information he was about to share. Knowing he needed to tell her was much different than seeing her face as she accepted it. For a moment she seemed just as worried, but then her armor was back in place and she nodded for him to continue.

"In the weeks before you mother was killed, three other women were killed," he said, "In the same way and they all… resembled your mother."

She simply nodded, not trusting her voice.

"And, uh," he stammered for one of the first times in his life, "They stopped after your mother's death. The wounds on your mother's body indicated that only one was the fatal strike, while the others were staged."

"She was the intended victim," Kate interjected solemnly, "But the killer didn't know exactly what she looked like, so he guessed wrong a few times before…"

She couldn't finish the sentence, or the thought. Suddenly she worried she wouldn't be able to finish the night. Castle knew—maybe he saw her shatter—and moved to sit next to her. He held no outlandish hopes that she would reach out to him but he wanted to be close just in case she changed her mind.

They sat in relative silence, Lanie's kitchen noises too far away for them to notice. Kate rested her face in her hands, holding her tears at bay, while Castle sat stiffly and wished there was something he could do to make her feel better. Just as certainly as there is a time for words, there's a time for silence. All his life he'd grappled with this concept. Now, however, he'd been paralyzed into submission. He couldn't have formed a coherent sentence to save his life.

"I don't know what to do," Kate found herself confessing. She kept her eyes down, trained on the floor. "All this time I've spent coming to terms with the fact that her murder was completely random. A fluke. Dad and I went on with our lives trying everyday to deal with her loss and the idea that they would never find who did it."

She looked over at Castle, eyes shining.

"Now that I know it's not true," she continued, "I think it's worse."

"Tell me what I can do," he said earnestly, "Something, anything. If you want me to get lost, just say the words and I'm gone."

"I would if I thought it'd work," she replied with a ghost of the smile he knew so well. "But I can't do this alone. Not this time."

"We could call Ryan and Esposito—"

"No," she said firmly. "No."

"Then who?" he asked. "I could call a friend of mine who's a private detective."

"Absolutely not," she scoffed. "I don't want anyone in on this who doesn't absolutely have to be. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly.

"Good," she said and they both watched as Lanie rushed into the room, phone in hand.

"Keys! I need keys," she said frantically, toppling over whatever was in her way to find them. Castle watched, stunned, before holding up a large gold key ring that weighed close to a pound.

"There!" she exclaimed, snatching them from his grip. "I'm on call and Homicide just picked up a mugging in Central Park."

"No shortage of those," Castle observed as he stood to help her collect her things and open the door for her.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly, whizzing past him. "Goodnight, Kate! Call me later."

"By, Lanie," she called feebly and Lanie stood on her toes to whisper in Castle's ear.

"Make sure she eats something, okay?" she said and he nodded in reply. "Take care of her for me. I'm sure you know how."

"I'll do my best," he said and fully intended to keep to his word.


	6. Love, Save the Empty

**Chapter Six**

"**Love, Save the Empty"**

Within a few seconds the medical examiner was off, down the hall, headed for Central Park. Castle shut the door and turned to face Kate, who seemed to be staring at nothing. It was fairly obvious where her mind had gone, but he had a feeling that tonight it would be his job to save her from herself.

"Well," he announced loudly, clapping his hands together, "What do you say we grab something to eat? I think Lanie ran off and left us dinner."

"Lanie didn't cook," she replied absently, "She was too busy eavesdropping."

Sure enough, the kitchen was empty and devoid of any food smells. The pans he thought had been clanging in use were actually just lined up in neat rows along the counter.

"Wow," he marveled, "Sneaky."

"Yep," she replied from the living room and he heard the distinct _pop _of the cork being removed from the wine bottle.

"Hey," he said, charging back into the living room, "What do you say we order out? My treat."

In answer, Kate knocked back a long pull from the wine bottle and cleared her throat.

"I don't feel like take-out."

"Okay, I'll cook," he offered instead. "I'm actually not too bad. I don't have my first officer here to assist, but I can make do."

"I'm not hungry," she said quietly and got off the couch. "I'll call you later. Goodnight."

He stood still, watching her travel down the hall until he jerked his eyes away from the subtle swing of her hips to the mostly-full wine bottle still in her hand. She closed her bedroom door behind her, but they both knew that didn't mean much of anything. He followed her without a second thought, stopping just short of opening the door himself.

"Hey," he said, knocking gently, "I'm coming in."

The doorknob was barely room temperature, but it held some supernatural spark because it was the door to Kate Beckett's bedroom. He did his best to hide the delight he felt at being allowed inside its walls, just in case she decided to shoot him after all.

"That wasn't an invitation," she said pointedly while he blatantly inspected the room. Finally jerking his eyes back to hers, it was all he could do to hide his surprise at her small room and decidedly feminine choice of décor.

"What?" she asked, noticing his expression.

"Nothing," he covered quickly. He spied the wine bottle sitting n her nightstand and asked, "You're drinking in bed?"

"No," she said, obviously annoyed, "I'm reading in bed and having a little wine."

"No glass?" he observed, "Classy."

"What do you want, Castle?" she asked, taking a seat on the side of the bed furthest from him.

He saw the book on her nightstand ad would have believed her desire to read herself to sleep if, instead of reaching for the wine, she'd reached for the small paperback instead. He watched, hands tucked firmly in his pockets as she took another long drink from the bottle. A quarter of it was now gone. He thought of her father's alcoholism, and suddenly feared that she was heading in the same direction.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked suddenly, trying his best to distract her.

"Pride and Prejudice," she answered, leaning back against the headboard.

"That doesn't sound like a mystery novel," he said with a smirk.

"That's because it's not," she replied, grabbing the book. It was easy to see she'd probably never picked it up before. The cover was pristine, the pages were free of any dog ears, and there wasn't a single crease in the spine.

"Not really your style," he quietly observed.

"I've been looking for a change," she countered, staring at him over the top of the book.

"What's it about?" he asked as though he didn't already know.

"It's about this narcissistic rich guy who thinks he can interfere in other people's lives whenever he feels like it," she said pointedly, glaring at him.

"I see," he said. "He wouldn't happen to be devilishly handsome, would he?"

This drew her eyes back down to the pages in front of her. Not that she was reading them; she was far too preoccupied with the fact that Richard Castle was standing in her bedroom, just a few feet away. Every now and then she locked up, shocked that the man she used to obsess over was now obsessed with her. It was always at the least opportune time, just as it was right that second. She inwardly screamed at herself to focus, because he was starting to stare.

"No," she said finally, praying she didn't stutter.

"Oh, I think I remember this one," he said giddily, surprising Kate as he shrugged out of his jacket and claimed a seat on the corner of her bed. "It's got that girl, right? The really stubborn, independent one who judges people before she really gets to know them?"

"I don't think so," she replied, glaring. "I think she's strong and intelligent, and I think she knows exactly what she wants."

"So you like her?"

"Yeah," she said with some finality, "Yeah, I do. I think she's a really interesting character."

"Fair enough," he said with his trademark half-smile, the one that made her stomach do cartwheels, "But I have to admit I'd be much more convinced if you were actually reading Pride and Prejudice."

"What?"

"Take a look," he instructed, nodding at the cover of her book. She flipped it over in her hands and groaned. There it was. _Persuasion, _by Jane Austen. "Right author, wrong book."

"Why not?" she laughed, reaching for her bottle once again. "I suppose you know all about this one, too."

"Well, I know a little. It's about two people," he started, "And they convince themselves from the beginning that they're wrong for each other."

"I'm sure they had their reasons," she heard herself say over the rush of blood in her ears.

"People always do. There was the issue of money, of course," he admitted, "Among other things. Her family. His job, which no one considered respectable at the time."

"What happens to them?" she asked, looking back at him. His eyes were burning; it was possibly the brightest shade of blue she'd ever seen.

"He comes back. After he's convinced himself that he shouldn't," he told her before leaning over to take something out of his jacket pocket. "In the end he writes her a letter telling her exactly how he feels." He twirled the folded up piece of paper in his hands and Kate's breath caught. "They get another chance."

"Sounds like a good story," she said quietly, willing her voice not to break. "I'll have to read it."

"You should," he said, clearing his throat in an effort to force his heart back into his chest. "I think you'd like it." He could feel her staring at him, he could send every question they weren't ready to ask, and it was quickly getting to be too much for him to handle.

"Well," he said finally, "I guess I should let you go. You probably want some space."

Kate said nothing as he stood from her bed and grabbed his jacket. She watched as he tucked the letter back into his pocket, all the while silently wishing he would leave it behind. The words on that piece of paper would be strong and graceful and full of promise—everything she'd ever wanted. After reading them she'd have no choice but to surrender to him; every desperate dream and waking desire. The idea of giving in to him was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and it wasn't until he looked like he might turn back around that she realized she wasn't ready for it.

"Goodnight, Kate," he said softly. He'd turned away completely when Kate called out to him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Castle, wait," she said, surprising herself. "You want some wine?"

He smiled.

"I thought you'd never ask."

**A/N: I loved writing that because I'm a total Jane Austen fan, and I love Castle. The two seemed to mesh beautifully. =)**


	7. Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

**Here it is, the last chapter. I hope you've all enjoyed this short story. =)**

**Chapter Seven**

"**Happily Ever After"**

"This was a terrible idea," Kate said, rubbing her heavy eyes and listening to the heartbeat just below her left ear.

"Speak for yourself," he replied, sprawled out at the end of the bed. "I'm having fun."

"Only you could call this fun," she said, doing her best not to slur her words. Three empty bottles of Merlot sat on the floor, next to her copy of _Persuasion_.

"Am I supposed to take that to mean you're unhappy?" he asked, "Because you were just fine a few minutes ago."

"Tomorrow's hangover is going to be awful," she said, lifting her head off his chest to stare at her feet. One wore a bright red sock, the other was bare. "Hmm. How did that happen?"

"How did what happen?"

"I'm missing a sock."

"Who cares? It's a sock," he said and grinned. "Besides, you're currently in bed with Rick Castle. You should be worrying more about other clothes that might disappear."

"Try it and I kill you," she warned. "And we're not _in _bed. We're _on_ my bed, fully clothed."

"And fully drunk," he added. "One thing could easily lead to another."

"Oh, no, it can't," she replied.

"Fine," he groaned, "Spoilsport."

"How drunk are you, exactly?" she asked out of curiosity, wondering if the ceiling was spinning just as much for him.

"Uh…" he started uneasily, "I can remember Alexis's birthday, but not my own."

"Oh, no," she said, "Don't tell me."

"Oh, yes," he countered, "I drove here."

"Easy. We call you a cab."

"Really, Detective?" he asked. "You'd send me home, drunk, to my fifteen-year-old daughter and unsuspecting mother?"

Kate laughed.

"Okay, for one thing, your mother's probably on her way home now in the exact same condition," he said and Castle laughed, "And I'm sure Alexis has had to deal with your party habits before."

"Wrong," he corrected. "Dead wrong."

"Which part?"

"The part about Alexis," he said earnestly. "I never came home drunk when she was a kid. Never. I wanted to be a better father than that, and I'm not going to ruin it now."

"So of course it has nothing to do with you wanting to stay here tonight?"

"No," he replied casually, "Not at all."

"Fine," she sighed, "I'll make up the couch." She turned her head slightly to look up at him. "You're a good father."

"Really?" he asked, incredulous. "You think so? I've been terrified of screwing her up her whole life."

"I think every parent is," she observed. "But Alexis really is a great kid. You should be proud of her. Hell! I'm proud of her and she's not even my kid."

"Thanks," he chuckled, "I have no idea how she turned out as great as she did. I doubt it was her mother, and I know for a fact it wasn't me."

"Martha, maybe," she offered and they both laughed.

"What about having your own?" he asked on a more serious note and he could tell Beckett was surprised. "What? It's a reasonable question. I saw the way you were with Angie Candela. You'd be a great mom."

"With my life?" she laughed, "No way. Absolutely no way."

"Never?" he asked pointedly. "Forever's a long time."

"Well," she wondered aloud, "Maybe not for a while, at least. Everything is too complicated right now, and it's still too dangerous for me to have someone depending on me."

"I guess I can understand that," he said and found himself staring at her. Her dark hair was messy and wild, and her usually pale face was flushed with alcohol. God help him, he couldn't remember seeing a woman more beautiful.

"I think your mom would have been proud of you, too," he told her, watching as her expression changed from one of quiet contemplation to one of sorrow.

"I think about that constantly," she admitted, her voice rough. "She wanted me to be a teacher or a doctor. Something normal and safe like that."

"So you became a detective. It's kind of the same thing," he replied, "But less normal and more dangerous."

"Tell me about it," she scoffed. "Castle, you have to make me a promise."

"Sure," he said, "Anything."

"If we do this," she started, "If we reopen Mom's case, you have to keep an eye on me." She rolled onto her left side, her head still resting on the muscles of his abdomen. He was tempted to reach out and push her hair away from her face, but he didn't want to lose his hand.

"I mean it," she said solemnly, "If I get in too far and lose it, you have to stop me. I don't care what I say or theater to do to you—you can't let me go through that again. I won't survive it a second time."

Castle nodded, unable to do anything else.

"You're the one who got me through her death in the first place," she said and her eyes widened with the realization of what she'd just said. The wine—though quickly wearing off—had loosened her tongue, and no she had no chance of being able to take the words back.

"How?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't know you then."

"Your books," she found herself saying, "I read them all, one after the other." She gave a weak smile. "I may not have turned into a cop without them."

"You're kidding," he marveled.

"No, I'm not," she said with a self-effacing laugh, "I saw the way these cops dealt with death, and how they gave closure to so many people." She cleared her throat. "By that time Dad and I had accepted that we would probably never know who killed Mom. I just kept thinking that I could give other people that kind of closure, even if I could never give it to myself."

"Huh," was all he said, though his mind was screaming, _You're amazing. _He kept thinking that he would have written hundreds more books over the years if he'd known that they would have given her even one more moment of peace.

"Yeah," she said, suddenly embarrassed by her confession. "So that's it. You were there from the beginning and now you're back, digging it all back up again."

He almost apologized, but he'd already told her how much he hated hurting her like he had. She knew, he hoped. He hoped she could read him as well as she could everyone else, because he didn't think he'd ever be able to tell her everything he felt when she was around. Having her this close, actually touching him, made the effects of the alcohol seem like nothing.

"I want to be there," he said suddenly, making Kate blink in surprise. "I want to be there for the rest of it."

Kate studied him for a second before nodding.

The trust this implied was nothing short of staggering, and they both knew it. Kate couldn't help but wonder what she'd done, and Castle was stunned that she'd done it. But, instead of feeling panic, they both felt an odd sense of relief.

"How long do writers usually annoy their inspiration?" she asked playfully.

"You know, that really depends on the writer," he replied with a smile, "It could be weeks or months or years."

"Oh, God," she groaned.

"What?" he asked, laughing. "I have every right to stick around until the happily ever after."

"I wasn't aware your characters got a happily ever after."

"Of course they do," he scoffed. "Why wouldn't they?"

"You shot Derek Storm in the head," she said pointedly. "What are you going to do to Nikki when you get tired of her? Car crash? Volcano?"

"Ooh, a volcano would be cool," he said excitedly, "It goes along with the whole 'heat' thing."

"Oh, God. What have I done?"

"But Nikki Heat doesn't need to worry about that," he supplied, "I have a feeling it's going to be a long, long time before I get tired of her." He shrugged. "Hell, I might never get tired of her."

"God help me," she replied, but she smiled as she said it.

**THE END**


End file.
